


Learning On The Fly

by silverlining99



Series: Learning [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Academy Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-30
Updated: 2010-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlining99/pseuds/silverlining99
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim has skillz, okay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Learning On The Fly

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Bones being all shy about asking for something in bed. (Kink of your choice!)

Jim doesn't think it's arrogance to pride himself on being good in bed.

It's more like plain and simple fact. False modesty is, seriously, nothing but a PC way to admit to being a big fat liar for no good reason at all.

Why the hell have a horn if you're not going to toot it, anyway? And it's not like he goes around _boasting_ , or anything; he just believes, in the privacy of his own head (and perhaps in the content of a _few_ comments he's made to Bones in the heat of the moment), that he has certain skills.

Certain mad, enviable, appreciable skills.

He doesn't think there's anything wrong with that.

Until recently, he'd have sworn Bones didn't think any such thing, either.

Apparently things change.

Go figure.

 

 

The first time he and Bones fooled around, it had the fumbling awkwardness inherent to the situation. Which was: a few too many drinks, a getting-to-know-each-other conversation that hearkened back to misspent youths, and, ultimately, a "you wanna?" or two that ended with tangled limbs, teeth-knocking kisses, and mutual handjobs.

It was, as intoxicated introductory sex went, pretty damn okay.

If Jim said so himself, at least.

Which he more or less did, actually. A few days later he walked in, interrupted Bones studying, and announced, "that was fun, the other night. We should do that again."

Granted, that got him a lengthy tirade on horny kids and the failings of modern society when it came to instilling common social etiquette and just plain _decency_ , but Jim basically figured he was entitled to disregard most of that in light of how things rapidly progressed to him having Bones's cock in his mouth.

Actions speaking louder than words, and all.

Not that he didn't absolutely fucking adore the way Bones had with words, of course.

He just also totally dug robbing Bones of the power of speech entirely.

He was versatile that way.

 

 

Three months in (three months, twenty-one handjobs, and seventy-three blowjobs, in fact, since who's he kidding, Jim was _totally_ counting), things took a turn for the interesting.

The relationship, as it were, had progressed by then in a couple of ways. First and foremost, Bones? Totally cemented in place as -- well, as the only person in a very long time that Jim had considered a good and actual friend. It was like, the guy would piss and moan until the day was done, but when all was said and done he actually _listened_ to Jim, listened and gave a damn and opened up a little in return. They had a rhythm, they had a pattern. They had, if Jim was going to get all boring and uptight about it, a solid foundation built on healthy, mutual respect for each other.

They had an awesome fucking vibe, was how Jim preferred to think of it.

They also had no lingering hesitations about getting each other off on a regular basis. A little rough going there at first, feeling out the natural parameters of when and where, dodging landmines of obligation or expectation and figuring out how, without ever having any Uncomfortable Conversations, to keep it easy and casual, but they'd managed.

And they'd done a great job, too, Jim thought. It was an acquired skill like any other, like learning how to read a room successfully, to be able to tell with nothing more than a quick glance whether a hand to the crotch would be welcome or be considered a hassle. They hadn't misjudged it a single time, either; that, Jim figured, was just how fucking _good_ they were with each other.

So he was thoroughly and indisputably enjoying the benefits addendum of this particular friendship, when he -- hindered and aided both by a few too many drinks -- ventured across a line they hadn't so much as discussed before, and pressed one spit-slick thumb into Bones's ass.

Bones bucked hard into his mouth and came without warning.

And okay, so, screwing Bones into the bed hadn't been what Jim had _planned_ to do with his evening, but hell.

Like he was gonna argue.

 

The way Jim saw it, there weren't exactly any lines left to cross once they started fucking in earnest, and there sure as hell weren't any reasons to pretend they weren't completely in each other's pockets and pleased as freaking punch about it. The dam had broken and all, the inevitable flood consisting not only of a hell of a lot of mind-blowing sex, but of the smaller details Jim hadn't even realized he would enjoy until he had them, in his life, scattered throughout his days.

Bones staying over some nights, limbs slung heavily across Jim's body, that turned out to be an excellent and unexpected bonus. Kissing for reasons _other_ than sex, for hellos and goodbyes and relaxing moments from time to time, was a faintly novel but ultimately welcome addition to his routine. Feeling the freedom to take small touches when he felt like it without needing to size up whether Bones looked to be in the _mood_? Pretty damn cool.

Plus, there was that matter of the _mind-blowing_ sex. Jim wasn't _surprised_ that it was so good, or anything; he knows his way around the mattress -- and pretty much any other horizontal surface and more than a few vertical ones, too -- and Bones turned out to be no slouch in that department, either.

He didn't need to be surprised to be really, _really_ enthused and kind of insanely thrilled by life in general. And given how Bones actually started relaxing and chilling out on a more and more frequent basis, the long they went on?

Jim felt pretty confident in assuming the feeling was mutual.

 

 

The problem starts close to the end of the academic year.

It's been, in Jim's estimation, one hell of a year. He's managed a record-breaking number of credits with top marks in all his classes, a handful of extracurriculars, a bustling social life, an honest-to-God _friendship_ and, with a little bit of overlap here and there, something that's starting to feel, for the first time in his life, like an urge towards commitment.

Surprising, that that last bit isn't the problem.

No, the _problem_ is he keeps catching hints that Bones is maybe just a little less wholly satisfied with the good thing they've got going. The first thing he notices is just an extra level of... _grump_ in Bones's attitude. There are undertones of actual acerbic bite to his comments every once in awhile, instead of the lazily habitual crankiness that Jim usually just finds funny or hot in turn. Sometimes both.

 _Usually_ both. Bones in a truly foul mood, though, is neither funny _nor_ hot, and it starts happening with disturbing regularity. It takes Jim, to be honest, a little longer than it probably should to realize that it also happens, for the most part, on mornings after he's fucked Bones.

Of course, he's usually lost in a cheerful haze on those mornings, so putting two and two together suffers the slightest delay as a result.

The other thing he starts picking up on -- and okay, so he _really_ probably should have grokked to everything way faster than he does, but there's the small matter of being _lost in the moment_ to contend with -- is...well. Bones _not_ being properly lost in the moment.

There's this one night, for instance, when he's gotten to the let-it-all-go point of fucking Bones, has Bones taut and keening on his back while Jim kneels and slaps into him, rapidfire and headed for release. He hooks Bones's legs with his elbows and falls forward, and with his attention on Bones's _mouth_ , which he very much wants to kiss the filthy curses right out of, he doesn't notice that's he's mis-aimed the fall of his weight until his hands come down on Bones's forearms, pressing them hard into the mattress for a few seconds before he can adjust. Bones's breath hitches for just a moment, then he grumbles under his breath. "Sorry, sorry!" Jim gasps.

By the time Bones groans out "no, it's -- never mind, _fuck_ , just like that," Jim's forgotten all about it.

But then there's _another_ night, and he's plastered against Bones's back with his hips moving in steady rolling thrusts, their bodies slick with sweat because Bones still hasn't adjusted his environmental controls to keep up with the fact that summer has well and truly _hit_ , and he slides his hands up the sides of Bones's body, keeps sliding up and pushing his arms along as he goes, curls his fingers briefly around the sturdy tapers of Bones's wrists for a few seconds when they're all stretched out. He shifts his knees wider apart and works his cock as deep as he can and Bones groans, a body-shuddering wrench of sound that rattles down Jim's spine and makes Jim move to grasp his hips and fuck in hard.

The next noise Bones makes is smaller. It's _discontent_.

Jim blinks.

This is new.

And really not cool.

 

 

It comes to a head at the close of exams, right in the middle of a perfectly enjoyable "hell yeah, Starfleet hasn't killed us yet" celebratory fuck. Jim is wired, to be honest, is maybe a little rougher than normal as he works through all the pent-up tension he's been pretending not to even _have_ , and Bones is taking it like a pro, not so much as a whisper of complaint even as Jim folds his limbs into hard stretches and presses him down just where he want him and snaps his hips fast and hard. He's even gasping encouragingly, face red and hair plastered down against his sweaty forehead because he _still_ refuses to adjust those damn controls, says he _likes_ it and it's his room so "shut up or go home, Jim, Christ, or I could give you a reason to complain about being sweaty if you'd get over here already."

Jim appreciates it, tries to show it by easing up, kneeling up and letting Bones stretch his joints and -- " _damn_ it, Jim," Bones groans, face screwed up in an annoyed pinch.

It's without a doubt the first time ever that those words from that mouth have ever threatened to kill his hard-on. Jim goes still and frowns. " _What_? What'd I do?"

Bones huffs out a sigh. "You -- nothing. It's _nothing_." He flaps a hand. "Just... come on, finish already, would you?"

"Wow, Bones, that is _hot_ , please, tell me more," Jim snaps. "What the hell, dude? Is it not -- is it not good for you anymore? Am I doing something wrong?"

"Well, you're not _moving_ , which certainly isn't helping," Bones gripes. "Seriously, Jim, it's no big deal, just forget about it."

" _No_. Tell me."

Bones looks away, won't meet Jim's eyes. "You let go," he mutters. "All right? Jesus."

Jim chews his lip, mulls that over. He hitches his hips once and Bones sucks in a breath, squirms a little. "Bones," he says carefully. He reaches and trails his fingers down one arm, then curls his hand tightly around Bones's wrist and presses it firmly to the mattress. Bones bites his lip, shuts his eyes. "Like this?" he presses. He rocks his hips, gets a stifled grunt in return, and he grabs Bones's other arm and holds it down, too. "Holy shit, is this what you want?"

Bones just breathes sharply through his nose. His muscles flex as he tests Jim's grasp. "Yes," he finally bites out, and Jim can't help it, he grins triumphantly. "Now _move_ , damn it."

"Oh, I'll move," Jim mumbles under his breath. He takes a second to readjust, to press Bones's legs back and lean in close, elbows pinning Bones's arms to his side. "That good?"

Bones strains against the confines of Jim's weight. "Yeah, that's good, that's -- _fuck_ ," he gasps as Jim thrusts hard. "Fuck, Jim, yeah, come on."

Jim laughs on a panting breath and dips his head to suck a mark into Bones's neck. "Shit, Bones, you should have _said_. What, you think I'd -- oh god -- have a problem with, fuck, with holding you down and making you _take_ it?" Bones just arches and sounds out every quick slide of Jim's cock inside him, keeps making a mockery of efforts to move. Jim pants messily against his skin, feeling the pressure, the buzz of sensation, of impending orgasm. He grits his teeth, wants Bones to get there first but no way is he going to loosen his hold to reach for his cock.

Good thing he's always been great at talking his way to results. "No fucking _way_ ," he hisses in Bones's ear. "In fact, you know what I'm gonna do? Next time I'm gonna tie your hands behind your back and use 'em like reins while I ride you until I'm _done_ , Bones, how 'bout _that_?"

With a harsh, gutteral noise, Bones comes in the tight space between their bodies.

Jim doesn't really have room to judge, seeing as how he does the exact same thing.

 

 

So apparently, Jim thinks with relief, once he actually _can_ think again, there's absolutely nothing wrong with his ability to drive Bones out of his mind with pleasure.

Thank God for _that_. Jim sleeps easily and deeply, overly warm and sweaty but not at all inclined to allow any space between his body and Bones's. "Change the stupid air temperature," he mumbles when Bones tries to shrug him off. Bones just harrumphs under his breath and shuts up.

In the morning Jim wakes up to cool breezes wafting in the open windows, and Bones in his tiny little kitchen making coffee. Jim shuffles up and wraps his arms loosely around Bones's waist, rests his cheek on one shoulder. "I want some," he mumbles. "Shoulda told me, Bones."

Bones pauses briefly, then pats Jim's forearms where they cross over his stomach. "I didn't know," he admits mildly. "I'm figuring it out as I go, here."

"Oh." Jim peeks over his shoulder, watches him measure out a small dose of creamer into his mug. "Well. We'll...figure it out together?"

Bones drops his head and laughs quietly at the caution in Jim's tone, then twists to kiss Jim briefly. "That's the plan, genius. Go take a shower, you smell like death."

"Whatever," Jim huffs. "I smell like manly manliness and you love it."

Leaning against the counter and sipping his coffee, Bones watches him silently for a long moment. "Yeah," he finally says. "Yeah, I suppose I do."

Jim stops right in the middle of trying to reach a really annoying itch high on his back. "Uh," he says intelligently. "What?"

"You heard me." Bones rolls his eyes and brushes past, pausing long enough to sweep his blunt fingernails vigorously across Jim's skin. "That got it?"

"Uh-huh." Jim turns on his heels and watches Bones start laying out his uniform for a clinic shift. "Bones." Bones looks at him with nothing but gentle good humor on his face, arches a curious brow. Jim shrugs sheepishly. "Uh. I don't know, I might kind of suck at it at first, but...me, too. You know."

"Shower, Jim," Bones reminds him lightly. "And hey -- you're doing a bang-up job so far."

"Huh," Jim says consideringly. He raises his arms over his head and stretches until his spine cracks satisfyingly. "Guess it's just another thing I'm naturally good at."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Bones mutters. "Will egos never cease."


End file.
